Enrich
by Razer Athane
Summary: "You should know me by now, Thorin. I care not for gold, for I am richer with the smiles of others." -Oneshot- For TheNewBrawler.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: For TheNewBrawler because of reasons. Partially movie, partially Legendarium, and a bit of tinkering along the way.

* * *

**ENRICH**

* * *

"_You are not here to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. __**You are here to enrich the world**__, and you impoverish yourself if you forget this errand." – Woodrow Wilson_

* * *

The first time he is approached, Bofur is too enthralled in his wood carvings to pay much attention.

From what he understands, the man is of Durin's Folk and of royal blood. There is something about a kingdom, a solitary peak, and a great dragon that has claimed it for himself. The more the dwarf drones on, the more Bofur finds faults with his little horse, and he immediately sets out to rectify what he can.

"Will you join me?"

There's silence. Bofur pauses and looks up, offering a tiny, polite smile. He sees hope flourish on the other's face, and he hates that he has to crush it so quickly; but it's better to stop that hope now before it spreads and consumes him like a fire, "I'm not the dwarf for your quest. My apologies, but I hope you do find some who will aid you."

There is silence again. It seeps into every corner of his tiny home, until it feels as though it suffocates the already broken man; and he must back away before it etches its way into his busy, plotting mind. When the door closes, Bofur looks back to his little wooden horse and hums softly to himself.

Bofur cares not for the riches of Kings from the East.

* * *

When Bofur next sees him again a few summers later, he is with his brother and cousin. The royal dwarf is in the company of a dwarf lady, walking the streets of Belegost. He briefly wonders if she is his wife, though they act nothing like the sort. He sees some dwarves bow low, and others nod in their direction. The few men that are around simply stop and watch curiously. A few paces behind, he spots many more dwarves, more of Durin's Folk.

Beside him, quick Iglishmek gestures fly, _'Their faces are so weary...'_

Bofur nods in agreement and approaches the familiar face. Bifur follows, leaving Bombur standing in the middle of the road holding supplies. He pulls his hat further down his head and greets him, though the response isn't nearly half as cheery. Undeterred, he asks, "Did you find some men to help you with your quest?"

The man's mouth remains a grim, dark line. He walks past Bofur and Bifur, and eventually Bombur. Durin's Folk follows, but the dwarf lady stops and offers him what he knows is the smallest smile he's ever witnessed, "We attempted to take Khazad-dum. We lost many."

Bofur nods. Bifur taps him on the shoulder and points further down the row of dwarves, where they see an older dwarf flanked by guards and a few healers. He has an eye wound, and his face is filled with grief. King, perhaps, of Durin's Folk.

The dwarf lady speaks again, and Bofur looks to her, "I am Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under The Mountain –" and before he can bow or greet her politely, she continues, "- and with the way you approached my surviving brother, Thorin, I can only assume that he has met you before."

"He asked me about a quest, but I cannot remember the details," Bofur replies, tugging down on his hat. He glances to Bombur, who has long moved out of the path of Thorin and the others, "I take it nothing really... came of it."

"For now," Dis drawls, and then she starts to walk again, alongside what he presumes is her Father.

'_Give them time to heal,'_ Bifur signs. He then looks to Bofur, who is already in deep thought, stroking his beard; and he knows. He knows then that his cousin is going to do what he always does when such a situation arises, as he had done for him in his own days of need, _'Really?'_

Bofur and Bifur watch as Durin's Folk march.

* * *

Bofur finds the royal family having set up camp with their kin a week later. In his days in the mines, he thought on what he could do for people so sad; in his evenings with his family, the desire to bring a smile to their faces or lend an ear grew so great that he begins to draft up ideas on what he can do for them.

With his relatives in tow, he walks through the camp, armed to the teeth with food, a few toys for the children, and some good tidings. He sees Thorin at the centre, surveying the area and deep in thought. Dis is seated on the ground beside him, idly rubbing her face. Thrain looks as empty as Durin's Folk feels.

The three are surrounded by guards, and then Bofur, Bombur and Bifur are stopped in their tracks. From behind his armfuls of supplies and from beneath his hat, Bofur smiles, "We seek an audience, please."

Thorin and Dis look, and it is the former who speaks, albeit hesitantly, "Let them pass."

The guards step aside, and Bofur's grin widens. Bombur sounds, following in small steps behind his brother, "That smile is going to fall off your face if it grows any larger."

When Bofur looks amongst the three royals, he notes how Thrain has not even acknowledged his presence. He doesn't mind, but it saddens him a little that someone is so troubled. He refocuses his gaze on Thrain's children, bowing slightly, before gesturing to what he and his relatives have brought, and he doesn't know where to begin, "We know it's not much, but we'd like to help."

Thorin approaches. The guards monitor the trio carefully as Thorin inspects the goods. He shows no particular interest to anything, but Bofur can see the gears turning in his mind. When he glances at Dis, he sees her smiling and speaking to her King, "Father, look at what these dwarves have bought us."

Thrain, so drained, spares a half-hearted gaze before returning his attention to a ring on his finger.

"Your help is much appreciated," Thorin suddenly interjects, and there is this air of tight _control,_ a feeling of a true _King_ sweeping through the vicinity; and Bofur, ever so polite, withholds any comments he wishes to make. Thorin points to a particular dwarven guard with a long, greying beard, and then gestures to what Bofur and his relatives have brought, "Balin, distribute this amongst our people."

Balin nods curtly and as he approaches, he offers a warm smile to Bofur. Before he takes what is in his arms, he picks up a particular doll, inspecting her, "Did you make this, lad?"

"Aye, I did," he says, "Myself and my cousin Bifur over there make toys. My brother Bombur is a cook. We made all these for your people; but I also bring some good news that would be of more interest than these items," and when Thorin looks at him again, he smiles too, "We are from a miner's family, you see. We all work in the mines more than anything else. Its good hours, decent money, and a loving community. But these dwarves were unaware of your travelling. Belegost has many dwarves, but the mines are elsewhere.

"We saw your plight and asked if some jobs could be made for your people, to help get them back on their feet. It took some investigation, preparation and convincing, but I'm pleased to say that there are some jobs for Durin's Folk."

At that, Thrain gives more attention, though Bofur doubts it's nothing more than a slightly longer observation. Thorin looks at Balin, who looks speechless; and then, "Your family did this for us?"

Bombur interjects, and Bifur nods in support; not because neither wish for credit, but because if it had been up to them, they wouldn't have gone as far as their remaining relative. They understood the pain, but not how to make it better like he did, "Bofur did. We just helped."

Thorin looks at him, regarding him with careful scrutiny. Before long, he speaks again as Balin calls for another guard to help him take the items and distribute them, taking Bombur and Bifur with them for further aid, "You will be rewarded for your assistance to my people; we do not have as much gold as we once did, but –"

"I don't want gold," Bofur states with bite.

Thorin falters for a moment, but Dis speaks, "Then what is it that you want?"

He smiles, "Nothing. I just want to help. This was all we could do."

And as he walks away with a small bow to a family that has no jurisdiction over him, he follows his brother and his cousin, his heart swelling with the joy that manifests onto heartbroken faces. And that in itself is worth more than any amount of gold that Thorin and his family could offer him.

* * *

Many months, years pass, and Durin's Folk fill the mines. From time to time, Thorin enters and helps those who need it. It is here that he finds Bofur toiling away one day and calls for him from up upon the ledge.

So Bofur climbs back up, leaving his work to others who need it more, and after he brushes himself down, he bows slightly and asks Thorin what it is he requires. Bofur wishes that he could call them friends, but he cannot be sure how the other dwarf views him. For the most part, Bofur is just pleased that he is known by name to someone so powerful.

Thorin asks to walk with Bofur around the vicinity. He nods and they chat about small things, never pushing beyond anything uncomfortable or intrusive. Bofur is pleased to learn that Durin's Folk are slowly settling into Belegost and all throughout Ered Luin, taking work where they can find.

"Your help has been more than anybody could ask for," Thorin says, staring down into the deep, "You gave many of our people jobs. You persistently return with well made food, toys, blankets, shelter for those who are yet to find some and are in dire need of it. I've never met a dwarf like you."

It is true, and at the moment, Bombur's back at home tending to an elderly lady dwarf who cannot walk around very well on her own or take care of her, "I'm just trying to help. It's important to me to assist when I can, and to put smiles on people's faces. I have always valued other people's joy above my own."

"You are a strange one," Thorin states, turning to look at him, "There is a reason, though, that I have called you up," when Bofur remains silent, he continues, monitoring the other's expression, "My Father wishes to return to Erebor. A small troop is going, and I have intentions of going as well. I was wondering if you would like to join us."

A sense of déjà vu strikes Bofur. He smiles, though it is sad as he looks to Thorin, "We have known each other many years, but I still am not the right dwarf for your quest. There will be many others willing to assist you, and there is little I can offer to your cause anyhow."

"You will be paid handsomely should we succeed."

"You should know me by now, Thorin. I care not for gold, for I am richer with the smiles of others."

Agitated but mildly understanding, Thorin nods and turns to leave without so much as saying goodbye. Bofur is not fazed by the rudeness or the weight that lingers in the air thereafter, and instead chooses to head home early to work on some more toys for children.

At least, he is not fazed until he returns home and finds that the poor old woman has passed on.

* * *

When Thrain and Thorin leaves, Bofur invites Dis and her husband into his home to stay.

It is a merry gathering, but there is always a hint of worry behind Dis' shining eyes. Bofur knows she's thinking of her family – he knows now who she lost in the battles at Khazad-dum – and so he encourages Bombur's comedic antics to have her mind stray from such dark thoughts.

He can understand, though. If Bombur and Bifur left on some dangerous journey without him, he would be just as worried. More so, it has been years since they left, and there's been not so much as a word in return.

Durin's Folk grow restless, and the weight on Dis' shoulders strengthens by the day.

He briefly wonders, completely out of curiosity and not out of spite, how long it will be until she becomes Queen of Durin's Folk, or until she splits beneath the galvanising pressure.

Bifur is communicating with her husband in Iglishmek – something about a forge, something about weapons, and then something about the axe in his head – when Bofur notices her gaze drop down to her stomach and then around the room. He inquires, "Are you ill, Dis?"

"Just in thought, Bofur," she replies, and she leaves it at that.

The next day, as he heads to work in the mines, he sees a small company on the horizon and runs back inside to bring Dis out.

The frown on his face feels unfamiliar as he watches Dis cover her mouth and squeeze her eyes shut at news that the quest was abandoned and that their Father has been lost somewhere along the way.

When Bofur's eyes meet Thorin's, he deepens his bow.

* * *

'_You bring so much joy,'_ Bifur signs, and Bombur cannot fight the growing toothy grin off his face either.

Bofur nods, bids them a good day's work at the mines, and heads to a small but comfortable home at the other end of the village. The journey is quiet, save for the occasional greeting or warm, appreciative smile; but when he reaches his destination, he adjusts his hat and taps on the door.

There's the scampering of feet, someone shouting, and then the door opening before him. He expects Dis, but then again, he really should've expected the child to swing the door open and have it bounce halfway back.

"Fili," Bofur grins.

Before Fili can go off on a little tandem about how it's taken him so long to visit again and that he wants to hear more stories of Ered Luin, Thorin all but arrives and pulls the child away, allowing Bofur to enter. He speaks, "Dis is upstairs. She's not feeling the best."

Bofur can hardly believe it's been almost a decade and a half since Thorin ascended the throne.

Bofur promises Fili that he will tell more stories in a moment, and hands him a new, wooden toy soldier, for the child had been much too... exuberant with the previous one. He tells him to be careful with it and then ascends the stairs, hearing him shout around the house for Thorin to play with him, and that this toy is much better than the last.

When he enters Dis' room, he finds that she is as pale as the sheets that wrap her form.

"How are you faring?" he asks, opening his bag beside him. He pulls out a blanket that Bifur made for her and gently throws it over her trembling and swollen form.

Dis is not the same as when they first met. She has lost the twinkle in her eye, the fiery determination that shows the world that she is from the Line of Durin – and he understands, for not long ago her husband had perished to illness and left her with Fili and the child still growing within her. Still, she's not lost her ability to show Bofur the smallest of smiles, "I'm not sure if the days are easier anymore."

Whether it's from grief or from exhaustion, he cannot tell, but instead, Bofur merely nods a little and takes a seat. He doesn't know what to really say and instead looks inside his bag for something else he can show her. As he goes through his items, Dis catches sight of his flute.

Her voice is barely there when she asks, "Will you play for me?"

And as Bofur does, he watches as she begins to finally rest, and he does not have the heart to go downstairs.

* * *

The years that follow are full of screams and confused men.

Neither Thorin nor Dwalin have the slightest inclination on how to raise children. Balin has a better idea, but Bofur can see in their eyes that the wish Dis hadn't of died birthing the third heir to Erebor.

So as he had done for her and her husband, he invites them all into their home, and Bombur shows much joy in preparing food for more people. Bifur watches in silence from the corner of the room, making more carvings for Fili and Kili. It is the latter that has a mighty set of lungs on him.

As Bofur gets them both to bed, he feels as though all of the light is drained from him when Kili asks, "Why don't I have a Mother?"

It's the first time that Bofur feels truly sad. It worsens when Kili looks to Fili, who has a vague memory of her, who had a life before his brother; and Fili can't answer either, because nobody ever explained it to him. Nobody knew how.

Such knowledge could not enrich their lives, so Bofur chooses to keep it to himself.

When he closes the door quietly, he prays for silence.

* * *

When Bofur returns from the mines and finds Bifur sitting on the floor with Thorin, he fights the urge to suppress the happiness from bubbling up in his stomach – at least, in a noisy way.

Harsh Iglishmek flows from the wounded dwarf to the King beside him, who has a woodblock in his hand and a carving knife, _'It is not a weapon, so stop treating it like one! Tender strokes, not harsh ones! You'll not succeed otherwise.'_

And when Thorin grumbles, curses and then throws the woodblock on the ground, Bofur can't help but laugh. And when Thorin hears and looks up, he pouts worse than when Kili doesn't get what he wants, or when Fili is trying to blame a prank on something completely unrelated.

"I'm going back outside with Dwalin and the boys," Thorin says, heading out the back door.

When the door closes, he asks Bifur, "What was that? Why are you teaching him?"

The sentences are to the point and carry much meaning; and Bofur finds himself pleased, _'He wants to learn how to make toys. He wants to learn how to enhance lives the way you do – through the small, simple deeds instead of the quests he dreams of.'_

Bofur finds that his cheeks hurt from smiling. He tells Bifur that his shift in the mines is over and that it is his turn to go, and that Bombur will probably leave with him. As his cousin bids him a firm goodbye, he picks up the woodblock and knife that Thorin's left so carelessly on the ground and continues to carve.

It takes at least an hour before they return, Dwalin heading straight for food and the nearly teenage boys running upstairs to learn more from Balin. Thorin regards Bofur carefully and only asks what he is doing when Dwalin leaves to go to the bar, stating how they're getting good.

"It takes practice, making toys," Bofur begins, blowing the last of the wood shavings off. He places the knife on the table and observes the item, holding it up; and from behind the wooden object, he sees him, "But the reward is worth more than anything. I don't find value in gold, Thorin. It has its uses, but I would be happier being a poor man making people smile, enriching their lives, than living comfortably and controlling the greatest army in the world."

He stands and crosses the room, placing the wooden wolf in Thorin's hand, "Keep practicing."

He's leaving to join Dwalin, because he needs to ask if the dwarf can teach him some new fighting techniques, but he's stopped when he hears behind him, "Do you not want this?"

Bofur laughs merrily, "It is a gift, my King."

Thorin watches the door close. He smiles.

* * *

It is many years later when Bofur notices that Thorin no longer sleeps as well as the others. He often finds him standing outside his home, his eyes wandering to the east, to the home he once had. A small raven flutters overhead, heading in the same direction.

Bofur finds joy in the small things, but he is a simple man. Thorin cannot adhere to this life.

Bofur speaks softly, "Smaug still bothers you, then."

"That beast destroyed the home of my people, damaged my family and killed many of my people. And for what?" Thorin sighs and looks to his friend, "I understand why you do not have such value in gold, Bofur, for I have seen it eat the mind of my Grandfather and slay so many of Durin's Folk. But I grow restless."

Perhaps, once upon a time, Thorin came to him in the hopes of reclaiming Erebor for gold. But that's many decades ago, when he was desperate like Balin, anger-filled like Dwalin, misunderstanding like Fili and reckless like Kili. Perhaps he only wished to please his Father and Grandfather. Maybe it was for his own personal glory. Maybe it was for Dis.

He pauses for a moment, remembering Dis, before realising that Thorin's begun to speak again, "Ered Luin is a wonderful place for my people, but we cannot stay here forever. One day we will be thrown out. One day we will have to move again, and I cannot allow that to happen again. I must retake Erebor, so that my sister-sons see its glory, so that my people have a home, and so that the world is rid of this menace."

And Thorin does not expect Bofur to understand, so he does not ask. He doesn't, though, expect the man to interject, "Do you intend to leave soon?"

"I am still trying to find volunteers, but it is not easy. There are few warriors left among Durin's Folk, and those that have survived do not wish to face the terrible beast again. And amongst your people, they fear much of the information that has circulated. I feel... trapped."

"That feelings is never easy to deal with," Bofur offers sympathetically.

"I know what you will say, but I feel I must ask," Thorin looks back towards the Lonely Mountain; and before he can open his mouth again to speak, Bofur beats him to it, placing a large hand on his shoulder.

"Just tell me when we leave. We will all go with you, to whatever end."

Thorin looks to Bofur and finds that he's smiling widely. He smiles back and nods to himself, adding three more names to the list before taking a deep breath in, "You are a good friend."

His hand slides off the warrior's shoulder, and as he turns to go back inside and discuss things with Bombur and Bifur, he responds kindly, "And you are a wonderful King."


End file.
